Aftermath
by Niarbeldoon
Summary: Harry is twenty-two and Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts. Besides emotional scars, everyone and everything seemed to be back to normal after Voldemort's death...until a force of Death Eaters escapes from Azkaban, bent on revenge. (review!
1. Worlds Collide Rather Awkwardly

Hi, all you other Potter fans. I'm Niarbeldoon (Noodlebrain backwards). This is my first story on here, and I'll admit it's pretty random. Especially the blender part. Most of my thoughts are. I'm always imagining stuff; and since I'm currently on some sort of Harry Potter kick, this leaked out of my head one day as I sat at the computer. Most of my (unwritten) stuff is more on the "character development/psychoanalysis" side of things than the "plot" side, but I'll try and make this plot go somewhere for you guys. (Might be nice, considering that this is a STORY.) Go ahead and read it, but promise me you'll go out and do something after you're done on the computer. Play tennis or hug your mom or be kind to a bug. We need to have some kind of lives... well, here's the fic!  
  
Vernon hurried, somewhat exasperated, to the door. Whoever was on the opposite side of it was knocking insistently; and at nine in the evening. He pulled the door open and found himself, unexpectedly, face to face with his nephew, whom he had not seen in about four years. Harry stood on the doorstep, black robes in contrast with the January snow. He had a few more scars on his face than Vernon had remembered, and his hair was flecked with premature streaks of grey at the temples.

"I need to use your phone," Harry said quickly.

"What the – why are you here?" Vernon Dursley demanded, holding the door open about six inches. "You don't look - normal! How dare you come here in that-" he sputtered, pointing at Harry's robes.

"I was in a hurry. Believe me," he said before his uncle could protest, "I wouldn't come here unless I really needed to. Look, I've got to use your phone. And, er... blender, too. And fireplace."

Vernon's face was slowly turning purple. "What - the - devil do you want with a blender? Now?? I'm not letting you in!" He started to close the door. Harry held it open.

"Uncle Vernon," he said, "You know, you can't really stop me from coming in. I only came to the door in order to seem more... normal."

Vernon's face was deep purple. He stared at his nephew with a mixture of fear and disgust. "Petunia and I," he said stiffly, "have visitors. You are not going to terrorize them. Go – somewhere – else!"

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, trying to control his temper and restrain himself from saying any number of nasty things back to his uncle. He had to think clearly. One of his major problems, as Hermione and Ron had told him countless times... control your anger.

"Uncle Vernon... this is kind of important. I don't have much time."

Vernon faltered, stuttering, and Harry pushed past him and swept into the house. Uncle Vernon, startled, watched another figure follow Harry Potter in – a young sandy-haired boy, also wearing black robes, probably eleven or twelve. Vernon had missed him in the evening shadows. The boy looked nervously at Vernon and ran through the door after Harry. Vernon, deeply unsettled, watched them turn to go into the kitchen; fortunately for him, they avoided being seen from the living room. He wondered how on earth he was going to cover this up to the Masons... his batty nephew, wearing weird clothes, barging into his house without warning in the middle of January. The Masons had not forgotten the pudding incident, although it had happened ten and a half years ago.

Harry pushed open the kitchen door. Number four, Privet Drive looked exactly the same as it always had, as long as he could remember. The kitchen was unrealistically neat, as though an alarm would be set off if anyone set a greasy hand on the counter.

"Professor?" asked the boy nervously as Harry flipped the light on. "What about the other muggles? What if they see us?" Harry's face was a little drawn. He hadn't been counting on the Dursleys having guests. It was frustrating, to say the least.

"Just be careful," Harry said to the boy. "But I have my invisibility cloak. And I know how to work a memory charm, if it comes to that." He looked at the boy's face. He was nervously standing in the middle of the kitchen, looking very out of place. "Don't worry about it, Ethan," Harry said kindly, trying to calm the shrimpy second-year down. "You're safe here, for now. And don't pay too much attention to the man with the walrus mustache; he can't do anything to you. Here... look for the blender, will you?" He paused. "You do know what a blender is, right?"

Ethan grinned a little and bent down to quietly rummage through the cupboards. Harry Potter turned away and removed a glass bottle from inside his robes. The liquid inside it looked appetizingly like... mud. He set two more phials on the counter next to it, one big and one tiny; both seemingly empty. The phone rang.

Petunia Dursley excused herself from the living room and walked hurriedly into the kitchen to answer the phone, wondering why Vernon was taking so long to answer the door. Who could possibly be at the door - or calling at this hour?

She rounded the doorway and nearly ran into Harry. It took her a moment to absorb what she was seeing. She let out a small squeak and clapped a hand to her mouth. Harry had picked up the phone. Stuffing his index finger into his other ear, he mumbled something and listened intently. Vernon appeared in the kitchen doorway. He had forgotten to close the door to the outside; a few snowflakes drifted into the hall. Vernon and Petunia stared at the young man in long black robes, standing in their kitchen as though he owned the place. Ethan, having found the blender, was standing next to his Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, the appliance clutched to his stomach and a wary expression on his face as he looked at Vernon Dursley.

"What is going on?" Petunia demanded in a whisper. She turned to her husband.

"Erm... go out and keep the Masons entertained... I'll deal with him," Vernon said, sounding as though he were about to choke. He shooed her out the door.

Harry breathed a quiet sigh of relief. "Good," he said. "Fifteen minutes? I can be out of here in fifteen minutes. Thanks, Lupin. Tell Tonks I owe her." He hung up the phone. Taking the blender from Ethan, he set it on the counter and plugged it in. "It's not standard, but it'll work," he said to Ethan. "I was never much good in potions..."

"Hold it," snarled Vernon. "I want answers. Just how important is this? You'd better not be giving any of those dementy-whatsits reason to come into my house!"

Harry ignored him and began to open the bottle of gloppy grey potion. Vernon grabbed his arm roughly; Harry spun around and stood stiffly, a muscle going in his cheek. The bottle, still closed, fell over onto the counter. The voices in the living room faltered.

"I don't have time to give you answers!" Harry hissed. "Lives could very well depend on this! You never cared for anything like – this – so don't pretend to start now!" Vernon hadn't let go of his arm; he pulled out his wand and pointed it at his uncle's neck. Vernon was shaking; whether with anger or fear, Harry couldn't tell. His nostrils flared; he turned back to the bottle on the counter. Pulling it open, he dumped the gloppy substance into the blender. It filled it about halfway. He pulled a small pouch out of his robes and emptied it into the blender. It unmistakably contained insects. He jammed the lid on the blender.

"I – want – to – know – what's – happening," Vernon said insistently. "I want to know whether or not I or my wife are in any sort of danger!" Harry hesitated for a moment, then turned the appliance on.

"Vernon, what is going on??" Petunia's baffled and slightly panicked voice rose shrilly over the noise. Mr. Dursley looked as though he was contemplating strangling himself with the phone cord. He didn't answer.

Harry stopped the blender and poured the mixture carefully back into the old bottle and the other empty one, somehow without spilling a drop. He sighed and set his jaw.

"I couldn't finish the potion before I left Hogwarts," he explained irritably to his uncle. "I needed the blender to add the lacewings." He opened the tiny bottle and removed a single, blond hair from it. "I didn't mean to come here. I was going to finish it – somewhere – somewhere safe for Ethan– but as Ethan can't Apparate, we had to fly."

"Fly?" Vernon asked. "You people fly??"

"On a thestral," Harry said hurriedly. He flicked the hair into one of the potion bottles; the liquid sizzled and turned green. "Never mind. It got shot down before we got... where we wanted to go. We ran here to use the Floo network. It was the only place I could -"

The phone rang, cutting him off. Harry grabbed it. His face paled as he listened. Ethan bit his lip.

"We've got to go," Harry said breathlessly, jamming the phone back on the cradle. "No time. They're on our trail. They know where we are!"

(There's chapter one! I have more! But I can't promise to post it immediately. Well... you promised... go do something exciting.)  
  
Amazing Grace; how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me! I once was lost but now I'm found; was blind but now I see! 


	2. What About the Muggles?

Here's chapter two. Thanks for your reviews, guys! It's amazing; I posted the thing at ten in the evening and by nine in the morning there were three reviews! It made my day. I fixed that paragraphs thing. Ok, enjoy!  
  
"We've got to go," Harry said breathlessly, jamming the phone back on the cradle. "No time. They're on our trail. They know where we are. Ethan, here!" He handed another small pouch to Ethan. "Listen. 'Number 12, Grimmauld Place'. And speak clearly!" Ethan hesitated, his mouth hanging open. "Forget the Muggles!" Harry hissed. "I'll deal with it! Just go!" He dragged the boy out of the kitchen, robes billowing. Vernon followed. Petunia and the Masons stared open-mouthed.

"Who are 'they'? What have you done?" Vernon bellowed, spit flying from his mouth.

Before Harry could answer, there was a loud crack. A woman wearing a thick sweater and slacks appeared in the middle of the living room, causing Mrs. Mason to shriek. Hermione ran to Harry.

"What on earth are you waiting for? Go!" she yelled, panicked.

Ethan seemed to catch on to the urgency of the situation, and, in a moment of rationality, ran to the fireplace. Throwing a handful of powder from the pouch into the fire, he said shakily, "Number twelve Grimmauld Place," and stepped into the roaring flames. He was gone.

Mrs. Mason fainted.

Harry, ignoring Vernon's spluttering and the muscle ticking in his cheek, uncorked the potion and downed it in one swallow. He doubled over, groaning, and clutched the back of a chair for support. He breathed heavily as Vernon turned to Mr. Mason and stuttered, "Er, just my nephew... don't really know what's... he's always been odd... er..." His voice trailed away.

Hermione, calmer now, knocked over a couple of chairs and pointed a thin wooden rod at the kitchen door, causing it to hang crookedly off its hinges. She wrinkled the rug, too – creating convincing signs of a struggle.

Petunia and Vernon watched, horrified, as their nephew's hair suddenly shifted from grey-streaked black to white-blond. He seemed to grow a little taller, his hands thinner; and when he straightened up, they could see a sharper jaw, fairer skin and hard, grey eyes. His scars were gone. He took off his glasses, hid them in his robe, and smiled cockily at Hermione.

"Say hi to Ron," he said. "I'll knock the phone off the hook if I need you."

Hermione grinned weakly and, after an anxious "don't get yourself killed," disapparated.

Six loud bangs came suddenly out of nowhere, and half a dozen figures appeared in the Dursleys' house. They were ragged, appearing as though they had not seen the sun or society in years. Their eyes were hungry. The woman and five men held their wands out, weaponlike, as they looked accusingly around the room, sneering at the Muggles seated or standing in rigid fear below them. They took in the toppled chairs and a bit of soot scraped onto the floor from the hearth. One man with long white-blond hair, proud-looking despite his condition, stepped forward, looking intensely at Harry.

"Draco."

Harry looked back at the man. There was a pause. Then the two of them moved closer and embraced, like two friends long separated.

"Why are you here?" the man demanded in a raspy, but not unkind voice, pulling away. "How did you get here? Where is Potter?"

"I tracked him here," said Harry Potter. "I tried to... eliminate him. But he disapparated. I don't know where he is now."

"And the boy? Was the boy with him?"

"Went through the floo network. Knockturn Alley. Pansy followed him."

"Knockturn Alley?" the man asked, an evil glint in his eye. "Fool. Enough there are on our side. He won't get far. He went alone..." the man coughed. "He wouldn't go to Knockturn Alley," he said after a pause.

"He was panicked. He probably shouted the first thing that came to mind." Harry saw the rest of the violent group looking at the Dursleys and Masons.  
  
"Kill the muggles," a skinny, starved-looking dark-haired wizard with a beard said suddenly. "Kill the muggles, Malfoy. They've seen too much. They could be spies."

"No need," Harry said languidly. "I've taken care of them. They'll be telling no stories."

This really was believable; the four were in such shock that none of them looked capable of speaking coherently; or moving, for that matter.

Malfoy looked intensely at the man he thought was his son.

"I don't trust him, Malfoy!" shrieked the woman. "It's not Draco! Kill him!" The rest of the group raised their wands. Harry pulled out his wand, his experience alerting him to imminent danger.

"Potter!" snarled Malfoy. His eyes were popping.

The room seemed to explode. Harry ducked and slid onto the floor as curses shrieked by the escaped Death Eaters ricocheted off the walls behind him. He raised his wand. "OBLIVIATE!" One wizard dropped to the ground, senseless.

"We'll have our revenge, Potter!" screamed Lucius Malfoy. "AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Harry twisted to the side as a patch of the rug next to him crumbled into dust.

"Petrificus Totalus!" The witch fell over, frozen stiff as a board.

"Avada - " Malfoy's curse was cut off as Harry kicked his leg out from under him. Malfoy crumpled.

A searing pain hit Harry's arm. He yelled. Scrambling to his feet, he disarmed the wizard bearing down on him and tackled him. They fell over and rolled on the ground, the wizard's hands around Harry's neck. Petunia Dursley had cowered into a corner; Vernon had pressed himself against the wall as though he wanted to disappear into it. He lacked the presence of mind to move toward the door. An expression of fear was frozen on his face.

Harry managed to knock the skull of the man fighting him against the wall. He passed out and Harry only had time to dodge backward across the floor before a potentially damaging curse hit the floor an inch away from his waist. He knew he couldn't hold them alone. Phone... Where is the phone?

Something collided painfully with the back of Harry's head. Stars winked before his eyes and for a few long, blurred seconds, there was total silence. Harry's vision slid in and out of focus and he fell to the floor. He was dimly aware of harsh voices...

A crash jerked Harry back to his senses. Blinking, he staggered to his feet, thankful that he had not let go of his wand. Lucius Malfoy lay senseless, draped over the arm of the couch; one of the two remaining wizards was grappling with Uncle Vernon in the corner. Petunia shrieked repeatedly. A small chair lay in splinters on the floor, having been cracked over Malfoy's head. By whom?

"Obliviate!" Harry yelled. He missed; the second wizard with shaggy grey hair lunged at him. Harry ducked, knocking his shoulder on the kitchen doorframe.

Kitchen.

Phone.

Harry forced himself to think rationally. He lunged forward onto the tile- patterned floor and made a wild grab at the phone cord as it dangled by the wall. He felt his hand close around it. He gave a mighty jerk as the Death Eater burst in through the crooked door. The telephone receiver clattered onto the linoleum; Harry could hear the dial tone resolutely buzzing from the contraption. The old grey-haired man raised his wand. Harry couldn't get up; he was frozen in irrational fear and his hip was hurting badly. The man screamed a curse; Harry twisted away, squeezing against a cabinet. A purple jet of light sliced into his side... Harry gasped for air...

Three cracks in the other room sounded. Vernon watched as the bushy-haired woman and two others appeared. He could only hope they were on the good side... or whichever side would let him live.

One of the men, a tall redhead, looked around wildly and limped quickly into the kitchen as Hermione and George Weasley grabbed the wizard away from Vernon. A quick curse from Hermione and a punch (for good measure) from the stocky redhead left the man unconscious on the floor.

Ronald Weasley tackled the old wizard from behind as he bent over Harry to finish him off. His attention diverted, the Death Eater turned to throttle Ron, giving Harry the chance to sit up, aim his wand –

"Obliviate!" The wizard crumpled. There was silence.

"Harry!" Ron said, relieved. He limped a few steps and helped his friend up. "Blimey... you look like Malfoy. I almost want to slug you. You all right?" Harry nodded. His side hurt, but it would heal. Nothing worse than he could handle.

"'Mione! You shouldn't have come... You all right? " Ron demanded. Hermione, looking a little tired and frazzled but relieved, nodded as well.

"You're not going to ask me?" George charged Ronald with false anger. "I'm offended. See if I ever talk to you again, little bro..."

Harry smiled at George. "Haven't seen you in ages. Nice to, though."

Hermione surveyed the damage; the six unconscious bodies littering the floor. "We'd better tidy this. And..." she gestured quizzically at Vernon, who was standing stiffly, his face an unpleasant shade of magenta, fists clenched, eyes staring. Petunia and Mr. Mason sat rigid against the wall. Mrs. Mason was still in a dead faint.

"Right," said Harry. He waved his wand as he thought, returning the smashed chair to one piece. "We can't leave them here," he said at last. There are more Death Eaters. They'll come here after the others. We were careless; we let them find us... I was careless."

"Harry, don't beat yourself -"

"I can't just leave them," Harry said, seeming to ignore Ron's rebuke. "I'll get the others back to their house... they won't be bothered... I'll work a memory charm..."

"And your aunt and uncle?"

Harry sighed. He seemed to be resigning himself to the worst fate possible. "My house," he said at last. "Just for now. It's safe."


	3. Vernon and His Nephew

_This chapter may be kind of long... when I'm writing the story I don't divide it into chapters. I do that later as I'm posting it, so the chapter divisions can sometimes be kind of arbitrary. Niarbeldoon  
  
Amazing love! How can it be that thou, my God, shouldst die for me??_

__

Vernon suddenly regained the ability to speak. He didn't waste a second.  
  
"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" he bellowed, mustache quivering. "WE COULD HAVE DIED! I HAVEN"T THE FAINTEST IDEA WHAT'S GOING ON AND I WANT TO KNOW! I WANT YOU TO SET THIS RIGHT! I WANT YOU TO GET THESE BODIES OUT OF MY HOME! AND I AM NOT GOING ANYWHERE! I AM NOT GOING TO GO TO YOUR HOUSE, OR WHEREVER YOU MAY HAPPEN TO LIVE, PROBABLY A DUMP-"  
  
"SHUT UP!" Harry yelled. "You don't want to come? FINE, DON'T! Stay here and get killed! Whatever pleases you!"  
  
Petunia got up shakily and plucked Vernon's sleeve. "Vernon... if it's safe..."  
  
"HOW DO I KNOW IT'S SAFE? LOOK WHAT'S HAPPENED ALREADY, AND IN OUR OWN HOME! HOW ABOUT IN SOME SORT OF MAGICAL LOONY BIN??"  
  
Ron, Hermione and George stood awkwardly and silently in a huddle. None of them had really seen Harry with his relatives. They knew they were not on good terms, but as Harry had always managed to either joke about it or avoid the subject completely, they hadn't known how cold the relationship really was.  
  
Harry stood quietly for a few seconds. "Darn it," he said, relatively calmly, "I gave Ethan my Floo powder."  
  
"I have some," Hermione piped up. She dug another pouch out of her pocket and tossed it to Harry.  
  
"George and I will get them" –Ron gestured toward the unconscious wizards and witch on the floor- "taken care of. Get them to the ministry. Harry, you get these people back..."  
  
Harry nodded. Stepping to the couch, he heaved Mrs. Mason into his arms, staggering slightly under her weight. He managed to toss some floo powder into the fire, then said the Mason's address and disappeared into the flames. He returned to usher Mr. Mason, babbling incoherently, through the fire also; then apparated back into the Dursleys' living room, looking slightly dizzy.  
  
The others had put the room back together in his absence. No one would have thought anything was unusual about the house now, except for the people on the floor. Harry turned to his uncle and sighed, holding out his hand.  
  
"I am not going through that fireplace," Vernon stated flatly. He seemed to indicate that anyone who tried to force him to do so would be knocked silly.  
  
So Harry strode past him, grabbed Petunia by the arm, tossed some powder in the fire, and dragged her through.  
  
Vernon made a gagging sound, staring at the brick wall through which his wife had just disappeared.  
  
"It's not all that bad, really, the floo network," Ron said kindly to Vernon, helping his brother lift Lucius Malfoy off the couch. "Especially if you have someone helping you through... And hey – nice job knocking this maniac out." he looked down at Malfoy's face. A bloody lump was rising on his forehead from where Vernon Dursley had struck him with a chair. "Ugh. Look at this ugly git!" said George. "Azkaban's too good for him, really... what are those Dementors doing, letting all these nutters break out? Holding dead people parties?"  
  
Vernon seemed to swallow his tongue as Harry reappeared with a crack in front of him. "I hate traveling by floo powder," he said, rubbing his forehead. "Four times in a row. I'm going to be sick." This didn't seem to improve Vernon Dursley's mood.  
  
"Come on," Harry said, exasperated.  
  
"Go on," Ron and George said helpfully.  
  
"I'll come with you," Hermione offered Harry. "You two can handle – them – right?"  
  
"Yeah, no problem."  
  
Vernon had not moved an inch.  
  
"Look," Harry said, picking up on his friends' expressions and making a mental note not to start shouting. "You can either stay here and get killed by crazed wizards or you can come to my house for just – a few days, okay, until we get this sorted out."  
  
Vernon had still not moved an inch. Harry, somewhat liking the feeling of power he now had over his uncle, stepped behind him, grabbed his shoulders and forcibly moved him to a few feet from the fireplace.  
  
"Isn't there – some other – way to get there?" Mr. Dursley asked through gritted teeth.  
  
"Not really," Harry said, "not for Muggles. I could technically fly you to London, but that would be stupid and I don't want to do it anyway."  
  
There was a pregnant pause.  
  
"Fine," Uncle Vernon said at last. "Fine! Never should have even thought for a moment that I could ever be free of this nonsense, no sir..."  
  
So Harry tossed a handful of floo powder into the fire, said "Number twelve, Grimmauld Place," and pushed his uncle through.  
  
Vernon stood rigid with fear as the world spun around him. Flames licked his body like warm breath. Bricks and chimneys and fireplaces flashed past him, sometimes allowing him glimpses of the rooms beyond them. He could feel his nephew's hands tightly gripping his shoulders, and he waited for it to be over...  
  
His foot struck a brick on the hearth and he stumbled forward, pitching out of a gigantic fireplace onto a slightly moth-eaten sofa. Harry Potter staggered out after him, regained his footing and leaned against the wall.  
  
The room they had entered was dimly lit by torches set in ornate brackets on the walls. The fireplace was tall and wide; the marble mantelpiece was empty and a little dusty. The floor was paved with flagstone and darkly colored tapestries covered the walls. Petunia was sitting on the very edge of the sofa before the fire. Ethan was dwarfed in a large armchair in the corner, clutching the arm of the chair and scuffing his feet on the floor. Hermione leaned on her elbows on the back of the chair.  
  
"You live here?" Vernon asked, looking around and taking in the dusty bookshelves on the far wall and the heavy wooden doors at either end of the room.  
  
"Yeah," Harry said, brushing the blond hair out of his face. "I inherited it when my godfather died. Sirius Black."  
  
"He died, did he?"  
  
"Er... yes, he did, Uncle Vernon. When I was almost sixteen."  
  
"That's why you were acting funny."  
  
"One of the reasons, yeah. One of many."  
  
Harry didn't like his uncle. How could he care that little about Harry's loss when it was still so fresh in Harry's mind? He had never told his aunt and uncle anything about his life in the magical world because he knew they wouldn't care and wanted to spare himself the loneliness of their not caring.  
  
Deep down, he had always desperately wanted his aunt and uncle's love. But it had always been denied him, and he learned to hate them, even as a child. He didn't need their love anyway; he didn't need them to care, he didn't need them to be proud of him for anything. So he had pushed them out of his life. They didn't know about his friends, his school, his teachers. They didn't know about the pain he felt when the only father he had ever known died. He hadn't told them about his fear and hopelessness when he had learned the prophecy... how he had lived in constant fear that Voldemort would find him, hurt him... the overwhelming responsibility of his friends' lives on his shoulders... the change that he felt come over him after Voldemort's defeat... the guilt he felt about Ron's near death... They wouldn't have understood. Very few people did. 


	4. Finally, You Get to Know What's Going On

_Alrighty, here's yet another chapter in the same day. It's only going so fast because 1) I'm all excited, and 2) I already had most of it written. But I'm going to camp tomorrow, so this is it for a little while. Thanks so much for your reviews! Glad you like it, enigma. It's so awesome... I got reviews from someone in Canada, someone in Germany, and someone in Britain, and I live in America. Isn't the internet amazing???_

Harry's vision blurred. He worried it was coming from the blow he had taken to his head; he put his hand to his head and felt his hair getting a little shorter and more wiry. He touched his face and felt the slight dents of his scars coming back. He was turning back into himself.  
  
"How are you doing that?" Petunia squeaked. She had hardly spoken at all yet.  
  
"Polyjuice potion," Harry sighed, pulling his glasses out of a pocket and putting them back on. "It turns you into another person for an hour, and then wears off." He crossed the room to Ethan and Hermione, who were talking quietly, and made a conscious decision to ignore his relatives for a while.  
  
"You okay?" he asked Ethan.  
  
The boy nodded. "Cool house."  
  
Harry smiled. "Right. I think you ought to get some sleep, Ethan... there's a spare room at the top of the stairs. You can't miss it. Go on." Ethan seemed about to protest. Harry gave him a little shove toward the door. "Don't worry, you're safe here. I'm going to handle all the other stuff. And sorry the house is this messy... I haven't been here for a while. Been at school, you know."  
  
Ethan nodded, sniffed, and left the room. Harry could hear him gingerly walking up the creaky steps.  
  
"Actually, I'll go up with him. He looked nervous," Hermione said. "He's worried about his parents."  
  
"Yeah," Harry said, "since I'm not good at talking to people." He rolled his eyes as Hermione tried to protest. "I know. I'm not offended. Just go on."  
  
Harry was left alone with his aunt and uncle. He continued to ignore them; he needed to think. There was silence in the room.  
  
"Who were those people?" Vernon demanded after a pause. "What have they got to do with us? I still don't know what's happening. My house had better not be demolished when I get back."  
  
Harry was becoming frustrated. Why couldn't Uncle Vernon just stop asking questions? Harry didn't relish the idea of spending a few days in his relatives' company any more than they did. He didn't want to listen to their stupid complaints and cater to their neuroses about anything and everything magical. But it would do no good to ignore his uncle now that he had asked him a direct question.  
  
Harry crossed his arms. "What do you want to know?" he asked, with his back still to the Dursleys.  
  
"Everything that concerns me," Vernon said stoutly. "I've been shoved into some sort of crazy farm here, against my will, and since it doesn't look as though I'm going to get out of it anytime soon, I believe I have a right to know any information I want!"  
  
This was the first time in his life that Vernon Dursley had actually requested that Harry talk about the wizarding world. But Harry slowly realized, from his uncle's unusually calm tone, that he was actually scared. Vernon never seemed like the sort of person that you could take pity on; he wouldn't have allowed it. He was a very in-control man, back home at number four, Privet Drive. But here, everything was unusual and unknown to him, and he was actually genuinely scared of it.  
  
Harry turned around. His aunt was sitting still and rigid, trying not to touch so much as a dust particle more than necessary, yet looking around, curious and wide eyed. Vernon looked like a deflated and sulky balloon.  
  
Harry leaned against the wall again. "Voldemort is dead. I... killed him in my seventh year. Remember that?"  
  
"Course I do," Vernon said gruffly. "Visited you in that oddball hospital." He didn't relish the memory.  
  
"Voldemort's followers called themselves Death Eaters. Some of them joined him because he promised them power. Some were under the Imperius curse... he was controlling them. Others joined him out of fear.  
  
"When Voldemort and I..." Harry's voice faltered. He hated talking about this, and he hated talking to the Dursleys. He forced himself to continue.  
  
"When we fought... that last time, in May... well, it's complicated. I'm not going to tell you all the details. But when some of the Death Eaters realized that the odds were against Voldemort, they deserted him. They were traitors to Voldemort; they went into hiding, and eventually came back to our side and were pardoned in court. But most stuck by him, and were either killed in battle or taken to Azkaban.  
  
"All the loyal Death Eaters stayed out of the way in Azkaban for four and a half years," Harry continued. "We didn't think they were a problem anymore. They were nothing without Voldemort.  
  
"But we were wrong. The only thing they were hanging on to was the desire for revenge. It doesn't seem to make sense, but they were so deranged. They were hardened. Love and trust meant nothing to them anymore; they had known only the desire for power for so long. But after being in Azkaban, they knew that they couldn't get their power because Voldemort was dead. All they could think of was getting revenge on those that had stolen their power. So they broke out of Azkaban.  
  
"I learned about the breakout one day after it happened. I was teaching-"  
  
"You teach?" Vernon interrupted. "You teach at that place?"  
  
"Yeah, Defense Against the Dark Arts," Harry said, willing himself to be patient. "People seem to think it's my area of expertise.  
  
"I was teaching the second year Ravenclaws and Gryffindors. The headmaster came in, pulled me aside and told me that the Death Eaters were heading for Hogwarts. No one had managed to stop them. Because they can Apparate, there was no way of knowing how soon they'd arrive and enter the castle."  
  
Seeing his uncle and aunt's dazed expressions, he said quickly, "Apparating is disappearing and reappearing immediately somewhere else. Most adults can do it; you have to get a license. Like driving. And it's not possible to Apparate or disapparate inside the Hogwarts castle.  
  
"Dumbledore told me to get the students safely into their common rooms, but to keep that boy with me – Ethan Longbottom. His parents and his uncle had been fighting Voldemort all his life. His cousin Neville as well.  
  
"The Death Eaters have a very bloodline-based mindset. It's hard to explain; it's a wizard thing – it has to do with wizarding families and pure magic blood and junk like that. But they were out to kill, not only those personally involved in the war, but their families as well. Ethan was in danger.  
  
"So I tried to fly him here on a thestral. They're... some kind of animal, never mind. But it got shot down, and the closest place to go was your house. From there I could finish the potion in case I needed it, and get Ethan to safety with floo powder.  
  
"The phone was Ron Weasley's idea. No wizards have telephones, but I do. It was the only method of communication that was completely safe."  
  
There was a pause as the information sank in to the Dursleys.  
  
"So they're still out there?"  
  
"Some of them."  
  
"It wasn't just Ethan, was it? You were in danger, too," Petunia said quietly. "Because you murdered V... whatever his name was."  
  
Harry froze. He closed his eyes. He hated that word, that word that started with "m", that word that classified him with Peter Pettigrew and Bellatrix Lestrange and Voldemort himself. That word that kept him awake at night. That word that had created a barrier between himself and most other innocent, happy people. That word that Dumbledore had told him did not describe him..._you killed him because you had to, Harry...it was legal, he deserved to die...in killing him you saved the lives of hundreds of innocent people... you killed him because it needed to happen, nothing more...  
  
no...no, I killed him because I hated him, Dumbledore...I'm a murderer...no..._

__

(Weird, no? I told you I'm into this character psychoanalysis stuff. And I have a confession to make... I really don't know where this story is going; I'm making it up as I go. Feel free to write plot suggestions in your reviews, if you want to. I'M OFF TO CAMP!) 


	5. A Bit of Fluff and Other Stuff

_(I just got back from camp this morning... it was the best week of camp ever! I am so happy and I made friends and I just hated the camp food and it was so fun and I painted my legs blue... sigh... thanks for reviewing me, slytherinphoenix7! Nyuck nyuck... I met Kristen, aka The Black Mage, at camp... I think I scared her... sooooo, this chapter is kind of dumb; I just wrote it this morning and nothing really happens, although you do find out some stuff, although even that is not so terribly exciting... yeah, well, review me and tell me what to write about, because I have no idea what I am doing!!!!)_  
  
"Harry?" Hermione's voice penetrated the tense silence. Harry spun around. He hadn't heard her come downstairs. Apparently she had listened to the tail end of the conversation, and she knew that his aunt's last comment was going to bother him.  
  
Hermione and Ron had been listening to Harry griping about his problems for years, and they knew exactly what upset him. They were the only two people whom Harry thought really understood him at all. As a matter of fact, they were the only two people who seemed to be able to put up with him at all. Most people were unnerved or intimidated by his manner.  
  
Harry never talked much. After all that he had gone through, above and beyond anything with which most innocent people could identify, he felt that he was almost of a different category from the general populace. No one understood his pain; they seemed to him to just view him as a museum piece, a war instrument. They would stare bug-eyed at him and ask him questions about Voldemort... it seemed to be the only thing people wanted to hear, and it was the one main thing he hated to talk about. So he rarely spoke, except to his close friends.  
  
Hermione's face held a look of gentle warning. Harry was known for occasional violent outbursts if someone made an indiscreet comment about him (often by accident), so Ron and Hermione considered it their duty to work on him to control his temper. It really annoyed Harry, but really, as he had to remind himself often, they did have a point.  
  
"I got Ethan to bed," Hermione said calmly. "He's no Gryffindor, but he's coping well. He fell asleep almost immediately."  
  
Harry opened his mouth and tried to formulate some sort of response to break the awkward silence. He came up with, "Good."  
  
But he was spared from replying further by George and Ronald Weasley apparating into the room. Ron's face was sweaty and he was winded. George had a slight bruise under his eye, and both looked extremely upset.  
  
"What?" Hermione asked immediately.  
  
"Malfoy," Ron gasped, sinking into a chair. "He was knocked out with a chair, not a curse. He was the last to be taken to the ministry... he woke up and attacked us."  
  
Harry let a loud expletive escape his mouth. "What happened? Tell me you caught him."  
  
"We tried," Ron panted.  
  
"Git took Ronnie's wand," George said. "Pounded us pretty bad... then he started running. We chased him as far as we could, but he kept sending curses back... we really did try though, Harry – Ron kept running even with his bad leg and a jelly legs curse... And I did manage to set his hair on fire, I think, although I missed with the petrificus..."  
  
Harry looked around for something to kick. But nothing was immediately available, so he put his hands over his face and yelled with frustration.  
  
"I'm really sorry, mate!" Ron wheezed. "There really wasn't a lot we could do, though!"  
  
"I know, I know," Harry said irritably. He lowered his hands. "I wish they'd just killed him in the first place," he said savagely. "It was a mistake putting the Death Eaters in Azkaban. They're never gone! There's always got to be something! Stupid Ministry!"  
  
"It wasn't all Dad's decision, Harry," Ron said in a strained voice. "He didn't think they deserved to live either, really, but there's the whole Wizengamot and everything..."  
  
Harry sighed. "Sorry."  
  
There was a pause.  
  
"Well, it's just the ongoing saga," he said. "We would've had to finish off the rest of them anyway." He sat down on the arm of the sofa; as far away as possible from his uncle (whom he was ignoring again).  
  
Ron, satisfied, got up and limped to Hermione. "You sure you're ok?" he asked. "I told you you should have stayed. You could have gotten really hurt, seriously, Hermione..." He took her hand in his. Their wedding bands sparkled on their fingers in the firelight.  
  
"Calm down, Ron," Hermione said. "Look... I guess it was stupid, but I'm so used to it; taking risks with all of you. And the baby isn't coming for a while."  
  
Harry started.  
  
"What???" he spluttered. "Baby? You didn't tell me you were ...you were ... !" He turned incredulously to Ron. Hermione blushed furiously.  
  
"We only found out a couple of weeks ago," she squeaked.  
  
George grinned. "Ron told Fred and me yesterday."  
  
Harry was stunned, but soon a grin spread across his face. "Congratulations," he laughed. Ron's ears went pink.  
  
_(Tee hee. Fluff. I really think they're definitely going to get married in the books, though! Maybe their kid will show up later in my story. I dunno. And I have some romance planned for Harry too, although since he's kind of built an emotional wall around himself he won't realize it at first... whee... I hate the eggs they feed you at camp... Have you ever heard Taiwan's__ national anthem? Go Jamie Hsieh! You are awesome, chickiebabe Ying! Dear Cheryl, I bless your ankle from afar... We are Kings and we will rule because we are so cool! I love you, Camperella! You and your pizza so rock! Yah!)_

_(and review me!)_


	6. To Trust Disappearances?

**Sorry I took so long, guys. I hope you enjoy this chapter! A little more action this time. Expect more of Harry's problems in future chapters. Expect a little romance. I'm going to be gone from the 27th of July 2004 - the 20th of August 2004, so I won't be posting during that time, although I hope to be doing some writing!**

****

Harry showed his aunt and uncle to another empty bedroom upstairs, assuring them the whole time that none of the doorknobs would bite, and that if, perchance, the mirror or a painting said anything, it was harmless and should be ignored.  
  
As he walked back down the hallway toward the staircase and the voices drifting up from the first floor, He noticed that Ethan's door was open just a few inches. He paused, and just to be safe, peeked in.  
  
Ethan was standing very still, eyes closed, right in front of the door.  
  
"Ethan?" Harry asked quietly. "You shouldn't be wandering, Ethan..."  
  
Then something occurred to him. He pushed the door farther open and shook the boy gently by the shoulders.  
  
Ethan's eyes popped open and he drew a sharp breath.  
  
"Whasgoinon?" he demanded sleepily, and rubbed his eyes. He looked up at Harry.  
  
"Oh, sorry, Professor," he said awkwardly, looking up at the stern face above him. "I um... I sleepwalk sometimes. When I'm nervous or something."  
  
Harry wasn't sure how to respond. It was, honestly, a bit of a problem; he was going to need Ethan to stay asleep without supervision... wandering at night was dangerous... and he only sleepwalks when he's nervous. That's just great.  
  
"That's fine," Harry lied. "Just checking on you."  
  
Ethan smoothed his rumpled hair. "I'll just go back to bed, then," he said nervously. He closed the bedroom door, and Harry could hear the bed creaking as he lay down in it.  
  
Harry considered for a moment, and thought he should probably lock the door...  
  
"HARRY!" Uncle Vernon's yell made Harry jump. He turned wearily around. Vernon was leaning out of his doorway, his hair unkempt and his eyes wild.  
  
"What now?" Harry asked, exasperated. "Did the curtain flutter? Because I have to tell you, Uncle Vernon, that's pretty much normal, it won't eat you..."  
  
"NO, YOU STUPID – THERE WAS SOMEBODY IN HERE!!!"  
  
"What, Aunt Petunia? She's your wife."  
  
"STOP BEING SARCASTIC!" Vernon yelled, spraying Harry with flecks of spit. "I'M TELLING YOU THERE WAS A MAN IN HERE NOT A MINUTE AGO! HE APPEARED AND DISAPPEARED, RIGHT BY THE WINDOW – "  
  
Harry felt a small jolt of panic. Thoughts rushed through his mind... _Nobody was supposed to come here, were they? Why would somebody Apparate into a bedroom rather than the living room? Whoever it was probably panicked and disapparated when they saw the Dursleys... It would be someone I know, wouldn't it... none of the Death Eaters know where I live, do they?  
_  
Harry, suddenly serious, pushed past his uncle into the guest room. His aunt stood stock still in the corner, staring at the window.  
  
"Did he disappear with a pop, or did it look like he put something over himself?" Harry asked. If it was an invisibility cloak, he was still here... Harry whipped out his wand.  
  
"I DON'T KNOW! HOW SHOULD I KNOW?" Vernon yelled, but halted as Harry turned toward him. "I think it was a pop, but what difference does that make?!?!?"  
  
"A lot of difference." Harry muttered "lumos" and shone wandlight around the darkened room. Moonlight streamed through the window. The moon was full, and the bright light cast confusing and sharply defined shadows all around the room.  
  
"What did he look like?" Harry demanded.  
  
"I don't know!" Vernon said again. There was an edge of panic in his voice. "Blond, or gray hair, and much too long... in a ponytail... scruffy looking... really underfed, all skinny..."  
  
Harry said something nasty under his breath.  
  
"Come on," he said sharply to his aunt and uncle, and swept out of the room. He pelted down the hall and threw Ethan's door open.  
  
Ethan's bed was empty.  
  
"Doesn't anything normal ever happen around here?" Vernon yelled from the hallway.  
  
Harry shone wandlight into the corners, panic mounting. How could I have been so careless, again...?  
  
"Ethan!"  
  
_Probably just sleepwalking.  
  
But he can't have fallen asleep that fast, can he?  
  
I shouldn't have let him out of my sight!  
  
How does Lucius Malfoy know about this place???  
_  
"I thought you said this place was safe!" Vernon yelled, as Harry spun around the room, shining his wandlight on the floor...  
  
He ran to the bed, shoved at the covers... empty... he leapt to the window... it was closed... he turned around and his foot hit something soft.  
  
The shape on the floor groaned.  
  
Ethan had fallen off his bed and lay sleeping on the floor.  
  
Harry's heart was pounding with leftover panic. He took a deep breath. Ethan was safe, but how on earth did Malfoy find out where... He crouched and was about to shake Ethan awake.  
  
Hermione's scream shattered the air.  
  
Ethan awoke with a start.  
  
Harry jumped up. "Follow me! Stay at the top of the stairs," he hissed frantically to the three in the room. He pelted down the stairs, wand out.  
  
_Why am I always so careless? What have I done now? No matter what I do, there's always somebody left behind who gets hurt...they've learned to count on my recklessness! They bait me away, they know I'll follow a hunch...Hermione! Ron!_


	7. Draco's Sadness

**Ok, here's another chapter. This one's kind of long. Slytherinphoenix7 and lilmatchgirl007 seemed distressed at my cliffhanger, so I remedied the situation a little. (thanx so much for reviewing me! It makes my day to get reviews!) Sorry about this chapter, I wrote it in the evening, there's no action, nothing really happens, but that's just my opinion, maybe you'll like it...**

Harry landed hard on his feet at the bottom of the stairs and sprinted down the hallway, wand held in front of him like a sword. He burst through the oak door, cold sweat pouring down his face –  
  
"Good evening, Potter," Draco Malfoy drawled, as Ron helped Hermione off the couch. "A little stressed?"  
  
Harry skidded to a halt on the flagstone. "Hermione?"  
  
"Oh – Malfoy startled me when he apparated. Don't worry, I'm fine. Sorry," she added, with an uncertain look at Harry's face. It seemed she was almost holding back a chuckle. "I must have scared you, screaming like that..."  
  
Harry breathed deeply, glaring around him. He nodded briefly at Draco, and turned to his relatives at the top of the stairs. "Is this who you saw?" he demanded, pointing at Draco Malfoy.  
  
"No. And I'm absolutely sure!" Vernon added, glaring at his nephew. "The man up there looked like some sort of rotten criminal!" The young man standing calmly in the living room was well dressed; his hair only reached to his chin and he stood tall and straight. The man in the bedroom had been much too hunched and ragged; his tangled hair hung nearly to his waist.  
  
"Isn't that ... that's the man you just turned into in my house, isn't it?" Vernon's eyes narrowed.  
  
Harry nodded briefly and brushed some hair out of his eyes. He turned back to Draco.  
  
"What are you talking about, Potter?" Draco asked haughtily. "You used polyjuice? What for?"  
  
"I had permission."  
  
Draco's eyes flitted to Vernon and Petunia. A disgusted smirk seemed to be aching to play over his face, but he repressed it. "Your... aunt and uncle?" Harry nodded, opening his mouth to speak, but Draco spoke over him. "What are they going on about? A scary man upstairs? Did that great oaf catch himself in the mirror?" He sneered a little.  
  
Vernon made a choking sound and his fist clenched on the banister. He was obviously livid about the affront, but too scared of magic and wizards to say or do anything about it.  
  
Harry, despite his ongoing dislike for Draco and all of his disgust with muggles, rather enjoyed hearing his relatives verbally bashed. Yet, his heart was still pounding...  
  
"Your father was just in my house, Draco," he said quietly, his voice like poison. "I wonder how he knew where I lived, don't you? How would he know where I was keeping Ethan Longbottom?"  
  
Hermione gasped quietly.  
  
Draco Malfoy's eyes glittered like steel, and he stared at Harry Potter with a mixture of surprise and loathing which he struggled to camouflage. He opened his mouth to speak, but it took him a few tries to get anything out.  
  
"You think I led him here?" he hissed icily, teeth gritted. "For your information, _Potter_, I've been under Dumbledore's orders all this time. I haven't so much as seen or spoken to my father in four years, and you know it, Potter, you of all people know it."  
  
Harry, despite his anger, could hear sadness in Draco's voice; sadness combined with hatred that came out in his slightly wavering voice, although his arrogance struggled to hide it.  
  
Malfoy had hated Harry Potter since they had met at the age of eleven. Draco's arrogance and superiority, his disgust with what he had been trained to see as the lower classes, had always conflicted with Harry's aggressive individualism. With the outbreak of the war; with Harry the object of Voldemort's murderous rage and Draco's father the willing servant of Voldemort, the rivalry escalated into flat-out hatred. And when Lucius Malfoy was imprisoned in Azkaban, when Draco's mother became sick and the Malfoy family lost everything... Draco Malfoy's absolute hatred of Harry Potter was cemented.  
  
They had been forced to work together after the war. Though perhaps united with a common goal, restoration after the war – Draco appeared to have undergone a change of heart – the hatred persisted. It was personal, not political. Draco hated Harry for ruining him, for sending his father to Azkaban; Harry remained bitter and suspicious of Draco. They tolerated each other's presence and bottled their anger only because they had no other option.  
  
Ronald spoke up. "Lucius was upstairs just now?" He crossed to his best friend, Hermione and George following. "Listen, Harry – if he knows about Grimmauld Place, the others'll know too - "  
  
"We can't stay here, Harry, they'll be coming back," Hermione said, her voice strained.  
  
"He'll bring more with him," George interjected. "We've got to clear out – where's that kid you brought with you?"  
  
"He's just – just up there with-" Harry spun and looked up the stairs at his aunt and uncle, beckoning them to come down. They were ashen-faced, and Harry, despite himself, could not help feeling just a tiny bit sorry for them. Ethan was standing just behind them, looking terrified, sleepy, and wary of Uncle Vernon.  
  
"Come on, Ethan. You, too," he addressed the Dursleys, and beckoned the three of them toward him. He turned to Ron. "Where are we going?" he whispered anxiously. "Where else is safe enough? If they can get here..."  
  
"Dumbledore is working on safeguarding Hogwarts," Ron said uncertainly, looking around at the eight people clustered nervously around the fireplace in the dim room.  
  
"Hang on," Hermione said abruptly. She spun around on her heel and disappeared with a faint pop. Petunia lat out a small squeal and Draco turned to glare at her with an expression of annoyance.  
  
"Where's she gone?" Harry asked.  
  
"Dunno," Ron answered, staring at the spot where his wife had been. "She never explains things."  
  
The group waited in tense silence for a few moments.  
  
Harry felt eyes on him, and he glanced to the side to see Draco staring at him, cold grey eyes locked onto brilliant green. Harry looked back. The fire crackled.  
  
Hermione reappeared, stumbling slightly and knocking into Ethan. The skinny twelve-year-old lost his balance and had to sit down suddenly on the sofa.  
  
"Hogwarts is safe enough," she announced, as though just continuing an ordinary conversation. "I've just been to see Dumbledore. The students are all in their common rooms; there are some Dementors posted around the castle again, Dumbledore's not happy but it's the safest thing so far. Aurors are out on the hunt too – Lovegood and Tonks as well – Dumbledore said you ought to talk to Mad-Eye, Harry... and Ron, don't worry about me apparating, it's still too early for there to be any problems."  
  
"I'm going to Hogsmeade," George said suddenly. "Ought to check on Fred and all that – help with things –" he disapparated quickly.  
  
"You've still got floo powder, right Harry?" Hermione asked breathlessly. Harry nodded.  
  
"You take those three then..." she gestured to his relatives.  
  
Vernon growled. "I don't want to go through the barking fireplace again," he mumbled at the floor. Harry ignored him.  
  
Minutes later, Harry was spinning through the floo network, eyes screwed up against the soot, waiting, wondering...  
  
He slid out of the magnificent fireplace into Dumbledore's office. Fawkes whistled hauntingly on his perch behind the headmaster's desk. Harry straightened up, brushing off his robes and looking around. Ethan had been seated in an armchair in front of Dumbledore's desk; he perked up as Harry came into view. Hermione and Ron stood in a corner; Hermione was trying to speak nicely with Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. Petunia seemed to be putting up a valiant effort with the conversation, Harry noticed, although Vernon kept spinning around and looking frantically for the owners of voices he kept hearing – the portraits on the wall were teasing him.  
  
Draco Malfoy stood leaning with his hands on Dumbledore's desk, talking in a low voice to Dumbledore, who sat calmly in his large chair, looking intensely into Draco's eyes over the rims of his half-moon spectacles.  
  
Upon hearing Harry arriving, Draco straightened up, looked at Harry in the face, and swept quickly out of the office, drawing his robes around him. Dumbledore stood up.  
  
"Ah, Harry," he said. "Draco has just been with an interesting story... Mr. Lucius Malfoy seems to have found himself inside Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place." He raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Yes, Dumbledore," Harry stuttered in a low voice. "He – well, I didn't actually see him, my relatives did – but they described him, I just saw him a few hours ago, it matched..."  
  
"Have you any idea how he might have come across your address?" Dumbledore asked quietly, drawing Harry by the arm into a corner of the office, where they spoke in low voices.  
  
"Draco Malfoy," Harry said bitterly. "It's his father ..."  
  
"I trust Draco, Harry," Dumbledore said seriously. "He would not put innocent people in danger. He has proved to do the right thing more than once before. Surely you remember..." he gave Harry a significant look.  
  
Harry hesitated.  
  
Severus Snape threw open the door of the office.  
  
"Headmaster, the floo network is being watched."  
  
"Thank you, Severus."  
  
"And sir," Snape said, striding past the Dursleys and stopping at Dumbledore's desk, his face unreadable, "Mad-Eye has just informed me... Miss Lovegood and Mr. Longbottom had been following Lucius Malfoy... apparently to Number Twelve - "  
  
"Yes, Severus, I am aware."  
  
Harry coughed.  
  
Snape glared accusatorily at Harry Potter. "Supposed to be a secure place, is it not..."  
  
Harry glared right back. "I didn't go and tell him about it, in case you were wondering."  
  
"Headmaster," Snape said, turning back toward Dumbledore, who looked at him attentively, "Mad-Eye Moody has also informed me that Miss Lovegood and Mr. Longbottom have been captured by the Death Eaters."


	8. Cornered or Not

**Sorry about the wait, guys. Woo. I think I have more of an idea of what is going on now, although like I've made Dumbledore say, I'm working on intuition. I hope you like this chapter. **

Ethan's eyes bugged out as he stared at his potions teacher. Harry drew a sharp breath, and Dumbledore abruptly stood up behind his desk.

"Where have they been taken, Severus?" His voice was far too calm.

"They were last seen with Remus and Nymphadora," Snape said, his black eyes glittering. "Apparently the four of them were creating some sort of distraction" - he glanced briefly in Harry's direction – "in London when a cloud moved and Lupin became... indisposed. The mayhem allowed Malfoy and the five others to escape. Lovegood phoned Potter, according to Moody, and Lupin is, right now, nowhere to be found.

"Somehow," he added nastily, "Malfoy escaped again-"

"Yes, Severus-"

"And was intercepted and followed by Tonks, Lovegood and Longbottom, to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. He disapparated; perhaps inside the house... then reappeared immediately in the street where the three remained, waiting. He managed to overpower Lovegood and Longbottom, that much we know. They are gone."

"And Tonks?"

"Unaccounted for. Moody claims to have seen her a few moments after arriving – after the two had gone with Malfoy."

"How long ago did this happen, Severus?"

"Twenty minutes."

Dumbledore thought for a moment, and the room was silent except for Fawkes' faint whistling.

"No bodies were found, am I correct, Severus?" he said suddenly. Ethan squeaked.

"No bodies, Dumbledore."

Dumbledore fell into thought once more, blue eyes shining piercingly. Harry shifted his weight. Ron caught his eye from across the room.

Harry's fingers were tingling. He could not just stand here in safety while they were in danger, while he was perfectly able to do something...

"Sir, I'll go after them-"

"No," Dumbledore spoke over him, as though he knew exactly what Harry was going to say. Harry had had a feeling for a number of years that Dumbledore was a few steps ahead of everyone.

"Hermione," Dumbledore said calmly, "Will you take Ethan down to bed, please? He can rejoin his classmates in the Ravenclaw common room. I am sure they will be delighted to see him."

Hermione nodded, put her arm around the boy's small shoulders, and led him from the office. Ethan glanced back at Harry as he was ushered through the door.

"Headmaster," Harry said, trying to hold back his impatience, "why can't I just go and look for them? It's partly my fault; if I can just find Lucius..." Harry felt rather certain that if he met Lucius Malfoy, or any Death Eater for that matter, he would be able to beat them; perhaps better or faster than anyone else would. He had done it before. He was good at it. As he had said a few times before – he didn't die easily. He'd managed to conquer Voldemort, and after that, he thought, anything else was perfectly doable – even, sometimes, fun. And besides... fighting was just what Harry did. He was an Auror. His whole life had led up to the defeat of Voldemort, and now that Voldemort was dead, his life seemed to be automatically intended for any further battle against Voldemort's vengeful supporters; for protecting and helping Voldemort's opposers. He had had plenty of practice. He would be good for this job right now... Just as good as Mad-Eye, if not better.

Does that make me arrogant? I don't really think I'm better than everyone else... it's just a fact, I was made for fighting, I really am better at it...right?

Harry set his jaw.

"No, Harry," said Dumbledore again. Snape drew breath sharply; a barely concealed sniff of impatience.

"Reckless, Potter," he said, very quietly. Their old enmity had never dissipated over the years. It had, in fact, gotten worse over the past few months, as Harry had secured the job that Snape had always wanted – Defense Against the Dark Arts. Snape had once managed to teach it for the better part of a year when the appointed teacher was sent to St. Mungo's... but the very next year, Percy Weasley was hired, and Snape continued to teach Potions only. _(that's impossible, I know, but I wanted to be silly!)_

Dumbledore sat down again. "I understand, Harry, that you feel well suited to do so," he said calmly, "and I do agree that you would be; however, and you must forgive my saying so, I cannot allow you to rush headlong into what will perhaps require negotiation."

"Negotiation?"

"The Death Eaters do not take prisoners. There is, I suspect -" Dumbledore smiled grimly - "a catch."

"A catch?" Harry asked. "You mean ... ransom, or...?" Harry's mind remained blank for a few seconds, his face registering thought. Then it hit him.

"They want me, you mean. They just want to kill me."

Of course. Harry had killed Voldemort; he was responsible for the Death Eaters' ruin. Of course he was what they most wanted. He had known that.

But now... what would they do to Luna and Neville in order to get Harry? They were ruthless and would stop at nothing, Harry knew, and they wanted him badly enough.

"They'll torture them," he said. His voice was flat. "They'll kill them. They'll worse than kill them."

Dumbledore had said nothing. Ron was silent in the corner. Snape hardly seemed to be breathing. Even Vernon and Petunia were quiet – although their silence may just have been out of nervousness rather than comprehension of the situation.

"My guess is, Lucius wants you to go after Lovegood and Longbottom," Dumbledore stated calmly. "After unsuccessfully gaining entrance to number twelve Grimmauld Place, he found that turning the tables on Luna and Neville was the next best option."

"Sir... they wouldn't let them go, even if they caught me, would they?"

"I highly doubt it. No, I don't think they would ask ransom... I would suspect it is, rather, a trap."

Harry was silent again. What could be done? If he went after them, they would ambush him, probably kill him, and then kill Luna and Neville. If he didn't go, they would torture or kill Luna and Neville. If someone else went after them, they would be taken hostage as well, as bait for Harry.

"I guess," Harry said slowly, after a pause, "We're at an impasse. Azkaban hasn't rid Malfoy of his brains. Somehow he managed to tangle everything up so that we're cornered at every turn."

"In which case," Dumbledore replied promptly, "We would need to do something quite sensationally unpredictable in order to get around it." He glanced up at Harry.

Harry racked his brains. He wasn't very unpredictable, this he had come to realize. Impulsive, maybe; reckless, certainly; but predictably so. He rubbed his forehead.

Snape spoke up softly. "Murderers plan their murder to the finest detail. What they don't plan is the escape."

"Meaning," Harry said, looking up, glad of any lead at all, "That Lucius knows exactly what to do in order to kill me, but once I'm dead – once I'm dead, he has no plan. He's vulnerable."

Dumbledore stood up again. "Severus. Would you please summon Mad Eye and the Weasleys, as many of them as can come? You might go ahead and send for Chang as well, if you would – and Corner and Jordan, I suppose." He paused. "Do not get Draco."

Snape jerked his head in a small nod and swept briskly from the room.

"What are you going to do?" Ron asked. "Attack him?"

"He would have thought of that, wouldn't he?" Harry said doubtfully.

"What then?" Ron asked again. "A distraction? Or are they going to ambush him while he's preoccupied with Harry?"

"You might say that," Dumbledore replied. "I'm working on intuition." He turned back to Harry. "Would you be so kind," he asked, "as to give me a few of your hairs?"


	9. Fair are the Wounds of a Friend

**See Spot run. See Jane artfully avoid progressing too far with the plot as she struggles to make it up. Well, I think it's a cool chapter anyway. Bit of a flashback-type-thing. Andrew wanted me to do this dream and concentrate a little more on Harry's remorse, so here it is. ( Now I want him to review it, the tofu-head.) Hope you like it.**

Harry's body ached. His skin smarted with the fresh sting of new bruises. He pressed his face onto the floor where he had fallen, too tired to move, knowing now that it was futile to try to rise.

"That hurts, doesn't it, Potter?" Voldemort's cold voice sliced through the red haze of pain that was Harry's existence. "Hurts to suffer alone. To be left behind by everyone you deemed loyal." The voice was above Harry now. Harry's scar felt as though it was being burned by white-hot metal. A sob stuck in his throat.

"They will have to be punished for this, of course," Voldemort said, in a falsely sympathetic voice. "After I have killed you, I will punish them." Harry heard the rustle of a cloak as Voldemort crouched near him. He felt a fingertip as cold as ice touch the back of his neck. He was too tired to scream. "the girl, Granger... she will be punished, punished very slowly... and Weasley. I shall find my uses for him. He shall be an example, as will you. He may prove to be very useful indeed..."

The thought of his friends lying maimed and unhonored in their death seemed to slap Harry in the face. He twisted away, driven by sudden anger. Voldemort made no move to stop him as he scrambled to his feet. Harry watched Voldemort stand slowly up, twirling two wands between his long fingers; and he knew he was powerless. Voldemort smiled, guessing his thoughts.

"That's the flaw in all of you," he said quietly. "That is your weakness. You care too much. You would gladly let me kill you, just to keep me from hurting your friends." He took a step toward Harry and his smile widened. "But what you fail to realize, Saint Potter, is that once you are dead, there is nothing at all that you can do to keep me from killing them as well." His smile broke into a laugh. His red eyes glowed. "This is where your heroism has led, Harry!" He laughed, screaming the words out. They rebounded off the stone ceiling of the chamber and seemed to surround Harry, blocking him from every side. "To death! Your death, your friends' death, and my victory!"

And Harry knew that it was over.

Voldemort's eyes bored into Harry's as he snapped Harry's wand in two and cast the pieces away. They clattered over the stones. Harry felt a trickle of blood slide down the bridge of his nose. Voldemort raised his wand...

The next few moments passed like a rushing wind. Harry was dimly aware of the door bursting open, banging against the wall; Voldemort turned his head and Harry felt a tiny flame of desperate, irrational hope flare inside him. He lunged forward; felt his fingers close on Voldemort's wand; felt his scar pound with pain as Voldemort's angry words screamed into his ears; words aimed not at Harry, but at the people in the doorway...

"What have you done! Kill them! Potter is mine! MALFOY!"

"Harry!" Ron called. Harry could see his best friend dimly before him, limping and sliding across the wet floor, blood on his face...

"Ron!"

There were other shapes behind him too. More red hair... blond hair... he let his weariness conquer him. Now they were here, and he could rest...

"Heroism? Love? Sacrifice?" An angry voice thick with tears called. "Accomplish only death? Maybe so, but it is your fatal mistake! _Your_ death!" Ronald Weasley stood before Voldemort, leaning heavily on one leg, his wand raised. He stood between Harry and Voldemort.

But Harry, grasping Voldemort's wand, still hesitated, tired. And that was his mistake, the mistake that almost cost Ron his life.

Harry screamed. Anger, panic and guilt melted together inside of him as Ron skidded across the floor and lay still. Voldemort's eyes, bulging with rage and triumph, turned on Harry again. He reached to reclaim his wand. At that moment, Harry felt only hate. Voldemort had taken so much from him and now threatened to take away the person dearest to him.

Harry found a new, raw power within himself, a power that he feared and hated and loved at the same time. He raised his wand, the two terrible words upon his lips.

"Harry!" he heard Ron's voice coming from far away.

"I won't let him take you, Ron!"

"No, Harry, listen to me!"

"I'm sorry, Ron!"

Ron's hands were on his shoulders now, and the white face of Voldemort swam before his eyes as though he saw it through thick, rippled glass. "Harry, wake UP!"

Harry's eyes snapped open.

The dim light of Dumbledore's office came into focus. Harry had let himself sleep in his chair. Ron's face hovered above his own, a look of concern etched into it.

"You okay?" he asked. Harry nodded numbly. "I was going to let you sleep, but... well, you know." He straightened up. "They've been here for about fifteen minutes. Dumbledore just got all the potions distributed." He held up a small phial.

"You don't need to do that," Harry croaked, his voice hoarse from sleep. "Really. I don't want you to." He sat up and leaned his elbows on his knees.

"Don't worry about it, mate. Dumbledore knows what he's doing. There's really not much risk. I mean, in comparison." He put the phial into a pocket of his robe and grinned. Harry hesitated, then grinned back.

"Ready?" Dumbledore asked, striding back into the room. He stood in the middle of the darkened office and clapped his hands, looking around at the figures that had followed him in.

Harry stood up to join them. Fred and George Weasley stood with their arms crossed and nodded at Harry. Cho Chang stood quietly behind them next to Ginny Weasley. Ginny's glance lingered on Harry, and she smiled a little at him before her face returned to a solemn concentration. Mad Eye Moody had clunked into the room, followed by Charlie and Bill Weasley. Hermione had returned as well. Lee Jordan and Michael Corner stood near her, with Severus Snape.

"Right then," Dumbledore began, looking around seriously at them all. "If Lucius Malfoy wants Harry, then he will get Harry. More than he knows what to do with. Let us see if he can think on his feet, so to speak."

Harry thought he heard Fred chuckle.

"First things first," Dumbledore continued. "To find him. Or rather... let him find us."

He stepped to the fire and threw a handful of glittering powder into the flames.


End file.
